Call Me
by Belphegor
Summary: Honestly, all she wanted was a fun evening with a rich idiot. She got a bunch of clowns with knives and machine guns and a date who turned out to be neither rich nor an idiot. Ever wondered what happened to Jonathan's date at the beginning of "The Mummy Returns"?


**Author's note**: Well, it's been a decade since I published anything in the _Mummy_ fandom – which is still going strong (if only on AO3 and Tumblr), I'm very happy to see. Maybe it's the 20th anniversary of the 1st film, maybe it's just good timing, but I'm alive and kicking / writing at the mo'. I have revised _Fairy Tales and Hokum_ and _bloody finished it_. Now I just have to wait till my beta reader(s) can take a look at the chapters, but in a nutshell, chapter 17 should be out around February. And then it's one chapter every Friday till the end. (oh my goodness.)

Thanks a lot to Sophia for the Britpick!

_Disclaimer: __Do people still do this? Jesus, I am _old_. Anyway, just in case, I don't own the characters and the situations – they belong to Steve Sommers and Universal (I think). I just took an extra who had a couple of lines and ran away with her. It's always fun to develop extras._

* * *

**Call Me**

To think the evening had begun so well.

Minnie – real name Winifred Cooper, but who used real names in this game – had found a suitable rich idiot, they'd had a few drinks, made attempts at conversation (not that she _really_ listened to him; one rich twit was as good as another and the only thing rich twits were good for in the end was money), and after a bit of a snog he'd taken her home for more.

His 'home' looked like a manor. Minnie couldn't believe her luck.

Unfortunately that was when the evening went from promising to just plain weird. And not the fun sort of weird, either.

Judging from the look on her toff's face – Jonathan, he said his name was, and he did look like a Jonathan more than she did a Winifred – people with stormy looks on their faces barging into his room wasn't part of his plans.

"Oh, sorry," he said with a nervous grin, "we must be in the wrong house."

Minnie's smile froze. But he'd had the keys and everything…?

"I thought you said this was your house," she said, eyeing the strange men in red robes striding towards her and Jonathan. Wait, was that a _knife_ in the bloke's belt!?

One of the men roughly pulled her away. She had ample time to check that this was, indeed, a very long, very deadly-looking knife with a hilt that appeared to be made of ivory and looked quite valuable.

The pitch of Jonathan's voice climbed several notches when he retorted, "No, I didn't!"

Minnie was about to protest, but a quick mental review of the evening – even accounting for the fact that she had only listened to his prattle with one ear – confirmed that he had never actually said the house was his. Now she thought of it, it was even doubtful that he'd said he even _lived_ there.

But he _had_ said he was rich. Several times, in fact.

Minnie resisted the thug manhandling her for a couple of seconds to stick her head in the door and say, "Call me!" just in case before the red-robed stranger closed the door in her face.

The next minute she realised the futility of her request. Whoever those men were, whatever the reason for their presence – and she had a hunch it was about money – Jonathan was undoubtedly not getting out of the room in one piece. She had wasted an entire evening on a man who was probably neither rich nor a complete idiot and almost certainly going to meet a ghastly end. The best thing was to discreetly retrieve her coat and bag from downstairs and leg it while she still could.

…The door to the corridor was locked.

Minnie's grandfather had been a hansom cab driver, and the old dear had taught her a number of colourful and very creative oaths. She exhumed half of them from her memory to curse the air blue.

And then screamed as gunfire erupted from the next room.

In a haze of terror she tried to break down the door, only to find that the hinges were on the inside. She looked about wildly and spotted a large wardrobe.

Minnie didn't stop to think. She flung herself among the clothes and slammed the door shut.

The gunfire continued, louder than the earlier thunderstorm. She made herself as small as she could, flinching every two seconds, her eyes screwed shut. It seemed to last a long, long time.

After what felt like hours, Minnie realised that silence had fallen. There was no sound at all except the creaks of the wood when she shifted. Maybe it was safe to come out, after all – even though she'd have to cross the next room to get out. Considering what she'd heard, she wasn't that keen on it. There were probably gory remains splattered everywhere in that room.

At least she'd be out of this madhouse, though.

Her hand found the door of the wardrobe and she pushed.

And pushed.

And spewed the rest of her grandfather's curses when the damn thing didn't open.

Minnie raged, she cried, she whimpered, she swore, but she remained locked inside the wardrobe. At some point she gave up and slumped on the floor between the coats, trousers, and dresses, thoroughly miserable.

_Wait, dresses?_

Either Jonathan was a little more unusual than she'd thought or the little weasel was married and had kept mum about it. She was usually so skilled at spotting the traces a ring left on a man's finger, too.

She spent a long time wondering exactly when the evening had turned into such an unmitigated disaster and feeling sorry for herself before she gave in to boredom and fell asleep.

* * *

Minnie was abruptly woken up by a footstep approaching her hiding place and the door being yanked open.

She screamed.

Jonathan screamed.

He stopped first and clutched his chest dramatically.

"Good God, woman," he gasped, "what the hell are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she snapped, all too aware of the countless little kinks and aches in her body and the fact that her mascara must have painted black tracks on her cheeks. Jonathan, she noted, looked dishevelled and tired, but completely unharmed. _How on earth…?_

Minnie made to clamber out of the wardrobe, her whole body stiff and awkward. He didn't help her out, too busy goggling at her.

"The bloody door was locked," she spat, trying to untangle her legs. Her tight dress wasn't helping any. "And I wasn't about to intrude on your little party, was I? Especially not once people started shooting all over the place!"

As if on cue, a tall man in a blue shirt ran into the room, holding a gun in each hand and pointing both of them at her and Jonathan.

She gave a high-pitched squeal, and Jonathan yelped.

"Who are you?" the man asked with an American accent, his eyes narrowing at her. "No, wait, I don't care. Jonathan, take care of it – and when this whole thing is over you and me are gonna have a chat. Remember, twenty minutes."

And he was gone in the blink of an eye.

Minnie was too angry and frazzled to be surprised.

"What is _wrong_ with you people!?" she cried. "Costumed freaks! Machine guns! Bloody… _cowboys!_ What the hell?!"

"Well," said Jonathan with a weak attempt at a smile, "at least a resurrected mummy didn't try to kill you. I'd count that as a win."

Minnie stared at him, still vibrating with anger and residual fright, and opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She pushed past him and stormed out, only stopping on the entrance steps of the house.

It had stopped raining, but humidity hung in the air and it was colder than even an English June night had any right to be. The countryside might be less smoky and dirty than London, but it was always colder, stranger, always reminding her that she felt better in the middle of bustling traffic and busy streets. She belatedly remembered that the nearest train station must be at least ten miles away and cast a forlorn glance at her shoes, knowing they would not last nearly as long. Then it hit her that she had left her coat and bag somewhere inside the house, and she sank on the stone steps with a frustrated sigh.

After a while, she started badly when she felt something heavy and warm drop on her shoulders. The familiar perfume registered before she recognised the coat as the one she'd worn earlier tonight, before the madness started.

Jonathan handed her her bag and sat clumsily beside her, drawing a hip flask from a pocket. He had changed his clothes, and looked marginally less foolish without his wilted dinner jacket.

"I called you a taxi," he said.

You_'re the t__axi_, Minnie almost retorted. She curbed the automatic childish sarcasm and wiped her cheeks with the heels of her hands.

She really could have done with some of what must be in that hip flask.

"Sorry about that wardrobe. The door's always been a bit troublesome."

_Oh, what the hell. Might as well make s__mall talk__._

"I thought you said it _wasn't_ your house," she said in a low voice. Jonathan didn't smile, but something twinkled in his eyes. He took a mouthful from his flask and threw her a sideways look.

"I never said that."

"Then what…?"

"It's my family's house. My sister lives here with her husband and her son. Rick's actually a good chap when you know him, he's just a little on edge – what with those blighters in the red taking Evy, then the whole nasty business with Imhotep and the mummies on the bus, then Alex being kidnapped…"

Minnie watched him rattle off things that made absolutely no sense at all, wondering if she should actually wait for the taxi to come pick her up or get away from him as fast as she could. Curiosity overrode sense.

"So Alex is your nephew?"

"Hm-hm."

"And he's been kidnapped?"

"That's right."

Minnie usually considered herself a pretty good judge of when people were lying or not – when she decided to pay attention, anyway. Jonathan's voice sounded on the offhand side of neutral, but the little worry lines around his mouth and the deep crease between his eyebrows told her that, of all the nonsense she had witnessed tonight, this at least was real and personal.

"How old is he?"

"Eight."

Something tightened in the region of her chest. Toff or not, that was an awful thing to happen to a kid so young.

"Eight years, three months and, er, seventeen days old, I believe." Jonathan rubbed a hand over his face and let out a slightly shaky breath.

Compassion and anger were having a go at each other in Minnie's mind. How dare he. How _dare_ he make her feel sorry for him and the kid. Whoever had kidnapped the child were probably after the kind of ransom you'd expect people living in a stately home like this to pay: the family would either call the police or pay a lot of money and everything would be right as rain.

That hip flask was looking more and more tempting by the minute.

Everything – the evening she'd had, the damp cold despite her coat, the awkwardness of the situation – rattled around her brain louder than a train clattering along its rails. In the racket she heard herself say, softer than she meant to, "I'm sorry."

Jonathan's head jerked towards her, as though she had just reminded him she was there. His eyes followed her gaze to the hip flask he was still holding between two fingers. He handed it to her wordlessly, and she took it with a nod of thanks.

Thank goodness for posh twits who carried silver hip flasks. Jonathan didn't stint himself on booze. The whisky was top notch.

Minnie was not the sort of girl who went red and giggly after only a sip of alcohol. She had learned the dangers of that early on. But she couldn't help a snort.

"I just wanted a fun evening with a rich idiot, you know that? And you, sir, are just _lousy_ at the rich idiot thing."

Jonathan pocketed his hip flask and shrugged. "Well, _I_ only wanted a fun evening. But it looks like neither of us is getting what we want tonight, doesn't it." He tilted his head to the side and looked at her. "Tell me something. When we started, er… talking…"

"Is that what you call it?" Minnie slipped in slyly. Jonathan looked rather put out.

"Yes, well, I'm quite aware I might not have been the most scintillating conversationalist, but then again neither have you, so."

She resented that remark. Or maybe resembled it.

The nerve of that man.

"What were you looking for, really? A good time, or a mark?"

The word surprised her. Maybe he really wasn't as wet as he looked.

And maybe pigs were flying in the night sky, as well, because Winifred Cooper took a look at herself and answered honestly.

"…Both?"

Jonathan looked at her, his expression inscrutable. Then he shrugged with a smile that had more than a touch of silliness.

"You really got shortchanged on both, didn't you? Your evening was a nightmare and I'm flat broke."

"What!?" Minnie's eyes went round.

"Or near enough, anyway. As it turns out, it's a bad idea to trust untrustworthy people."

"Oh."

Just how gullible _was_ he, really?

The sound of an oncoming motor and wheels creaking on the gravel of the driveway interrupted her train of thought and she looked up to see a taxi stopping near the house. Jonathan stood up with a wince and held out his hand.

"Looks like your carriage has arrived, Milady. Come on, up you get."

Minnie took the proffered hand, holding her coat tightly shut. When he let go she almost had to quash a pang of regret. His hand had been warm.

Before she closed the door of the taxi, something – temporary insanity, no doubt – made her call him back.

"Jonathan?"

Jonathan was halfway up the steps to the house. He turned back to her with a slightly startled expression.

"Look… This evening really has been, um…"

"An unequivocal disaster?"

"Something like that. It was fun, though, before… Well, before." Not that Minnie wanted to repeat the experience. Maybe she should start chasing the broody loners from now on. Quirky airheads were deceptively dangerous. "About your nephew… Could you give me a call when you get him back? Just so I know he's safe."

Immediately after she mentally kicked herself. Never getting involved in any way wasn't just a convenient defence mechanism, it was a necessary one. _Congratulations, you sap, now he thinks you care_.

She definitely didn't. Not a jot. What was it to her, really. Many other kids had it much worse every day.

Jonathan stared at her, looking taken aback. Then he smiled.

"I'll do that, then. Thank you, Minnie."

That was when she realised that she would have to never see him again. Batting her eyelashes to part fools and their money and fooling around for a good time was one thing; taking advantage of a moment of vulnerability was too low, even for her. Minnie couldn't in good conscience say that she was a woman of principle, but she did have standards. And she didn't do personal. That way lay danger.

She couldn't help turning back in her seat just before the taxi left the driveway for the road. The steps were deserted; Jonathan had gone back inside the house.

_One call_, she told herself firmly. _That's it. __Then it's business as usual._

No harm ever came from making one single phone call, after all.

* * *

Notes:

I'm not saying I had "Minnie the Moocher" in my head the whole time I was writing this, but… I kinda did :D This Minnie doesn't have a "heart as big as a whale", though. Maybe a dogfish shark :3 Still, I liked creating her. She's a gold digger and owns up to it, but does have standards.

Hope you liked!


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